Sneaking In
by xkohleyesx
Summary: I refuse to look at him…trying to hide the evidence of the night that's written clearly all over my face. - It's said that old habits die hard. For the captain of the Enterprise, this means returning home after yet another pointless bar brawl. estabK/S


I try to sneak in, keeping my footsteps light as the door slides shut behind me in a soft _woosh_. I know it's an effort in futility, that he was most likely awake the moment I pressed the first keystroke into the door panel (if he even went to sleep at all).

Still.

I quietly toe off my boots (not an easy task, mind you), and push them to their place beside the door, before sliding my arms out of the leather jacket I'd hastily thrown over my uniform blacks earlier in the evening. My shoulder makes the smallest of twinges and I bite back the groan building in my throat.

_Fuck, that hurts…_

I begin the arduous task of struggling out of my shirt as I slowly make my way to the bathroom, arduous because my muscles hurt like a bitch and slowly because the lights are still off and that's how they're going to stay, thank you very much.

"Lights at twenty percent."

_Damn._

He's standing in front of me, his body precisely positioned to block my path to the bathroom. How he had gotten there without my noticing is beyond me. It normally would have bothered me, this kind of silent appearing act, but I've long since come to terms with the fact that he's Vulcan and therefore somewhat magical.

The room is quiet. He's silent and stoic and perfectly Vulcan as usual, and like hell I'm going to be the one to break the strenuous silence that's settled over us.

"Hey."

_Double damn!_

I refuse to look at him, keeping my face turned away just so, trying to hide the evidence of the night that's written clearly all over my face. It's another vain effort, I know.

But still. I'm nothing if not stubborn.

He doesn't say anything in response, simply stands there, looking at me. I can feel his strong, calculating gaze sweeping over my frame and I know that it's useless to try to hide the slump in my shoulders or the way I'm favoring my left knee. I begin to squirm under his intense scrutiny.

With a sigh that sounds resigned to my own ears, I finish yanking off my shirt, not bothering to muffle the hiss that escapes my lips as the movement jars my injured shoulder.

He's in front of me in a moment, a mere blink, and his too-warm fingertips are ghosting across the myriad of ugly bruises I know cover my torso. My eyes slip closed, biting my lip against the pain that sparks to life as his touch calls to attention each and every inch of injured flesh.

He's suddenly still. And five steps away from me. I can feel the regret and apology from his tense body, see it in his clenched jaw and fisted hands at his sides.

Mustering up a reassuring (if not lopsided) smile, I turn to face him. Whichever of my typical platitudes I plan on tossing at him dies on my lips as he is once again standing in front of me, even closer than before, invading my personal space. I have the fleeting realization of just how worried he is, to be forgetting his moves in such a blatant way (so different from his typical intense control), before his hand reaches to my face in a slow, almost tentative move.

I close my eyes again, unconsciously bracing myself for the touch of his hand on my battered face.

It never comes.

"You are severely injured. You should report to Sickbay at once." His voice is soft, smooth, and clinical. Detached. But also with an undercurrent of worry that I'm sure he didn't realize he was expressing. I open my eyes and when I meet his gaze at last, I can see the same concern in the dark depths of his eyes, swirling around with countless other emotions. Slightly taken aback by his open display, I shake my head.

"I'm fine." I speak just as softly as he did, somehow feeling it inappropriate to raise my voice any higher. "All I need is a shower, a couple of aspirin, and some sleep."

I pause, taking in his tensing features.

"Besides, it's late. If there's anything that Bones should see, it can keep 'til a more godly hour." A half-assed attempt at a joke if I do say so myself.

His gaze darkens by a fraction, and when I see it, I know I'm in for a good ol'-fashion Vulcan lecture.

"There are a host of bruises and scrapes across your arms, chest, and midriff. As well, it would not be illogical to presume that you have similar injuries on your back and other areas of your body that are not immediately visible. Aside from the obvious discomfort, you risk infection by not seeking immediate medical attention."

"Flesh wounds: _Not_ life threatening," I state, staring into his unblinking gaze.

"Given the way in which you hold your arm close to your person, it appears that your right shoulder has been recently dislocated from its socket for an indeterminable period of time, before being forcibly relocated."

I shrug my good shoulder. "Happens sometimes. Dislocated it once during a fight and it slips back out every so often. Good whack to a wall and it's as good as new."

"Furthermore," He continues through his diagnosis as if I hadn't spoken. "From the way in which you are placing the majority of your body weight on your right side, I would believe it logical to deduce that you have sustained an injury to your left leg, and judging by the slight bend to your knee, I would say you have deeply bruised, if not sprained, the joint."

"Old injury flared up- happened when I was a kid. I… Well, let's just say I was in a car accident…"

Though curiosity sparked in his eyes, he would not be stopped. "Finally, you have sustained a considerable amount of damage surrounding your left eye. As of the moment, you already have quiet the 'shiner', as you frequently refer to them, which will only become worse the longer it is left unattended."

I smirk slightly at his use of the colloquialism. "'S not my first black eye, Spock, and it certainly won't be my last."

"And though I do not believe you have suffered a fracture to the zygomatic bone, you have sustained a subconjunctival hemorrhage."

"…"

"A blood vessel in your eye has ruptured."

I pause. "… Well… That's a new one."

He's still looking at me with that same intensity, the same pain and concern, broken confusion now entering the mix.

"…Why must you do this to yourself? It is illogical."

It's only because we're so close that I'm able to hear the tremble in his voice, see the suffering behind his tumultuous expression beneath his furrowed brow, and just for a moment, I hate myself.

I hate that I've made him feel like this. For all of the effort I've put into showing him the value and worth of emotions, _these_ are the ones I've made him feel?

The irony is not lost on me.

"I'm sorry." I'm mumbling, as I finally turn away from him, but I know that he can hear me. Vulcan super-hearing and all that.

He stops me before I can move away, taking my hand in his. With a soft tug, he leads me toward our bed- the covers already pulled back, the pillows arranged just so- where I sit on the edge as directed. When he hands me two small tablets and a glass of cool water that had been resting on the bedside table, I almost want to cry.

_Wonderful, perceptive Vulcan._

Pills swallowed, I lean back and settle in for the night, groaning when my muscles pull uncomfortably. After a few moments of silence, my gaze drifts to where he still stands beside the bed. Our eyes lock, and I give him my best Vulcan-esque eyebrow quirk in question.

For a terrifying moment, I think that he's going to leave me alone this time (not that I wouldn't deserve it in the least), but after a beat and with his own reciprocating quirk, he slides beneath the sheets beside me.

I roll over and tuck myself against his warm side, mindful to rest my injured arm lightly across his torso as my head settles on his shoulder. A contented sigh escapes my lips as the heat of his body begins to soothe away my aches.

Ever so softly, I feel his hand on my undamaged cheek. When I glance up, he's leaning towards me, and with his own sigh, he places a gentle kiss to the rapidly darkening skin beneath my eye, the softest of touches that, miracle of miracles, doesn't hurt like a bitch. Like I said: He's magical.

"Lights off. Sleep now, Jim."

"Good night, Spock.

"… And thank you."


End file.
